


His Butler, Father

by Hay_Bails



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Agni is great, Ciel Phantomhive is a Brat, Death, Funerals, Gen, Grieving, Grieving Sebastian, Healing, Original Character Death(s), Soma is great too, Who Loves his Butler, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hay_Bails/pseuds/Hay_Bails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian receives news of the death of his son. Ciel decides to comfort him, in true Ciel fashion, by being a brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            “Who is Lucien?” Ciel asked lazily, sifting through a veritable mountain of letters on his writing desk. Sebastian stilled, a flash of surprise illuminating his features before he schooled himself back to composure.

            “Lucien, my lord?” he asked in a silk voice.

            “Don’t play at ignorance,” Ciel snapped. His uncovered left eye shifted, gazing at his butler. “You had a letter today.” He waved it at Sebastian, who took it curiously in one hand. With the other, he continued to prepare the earl’s tea, stirring in a hint of sugar.

            “Did you read it?” the butler asked with a dubious frown.

            “I didn’t realize it was for you. You’ve never received mail before.”

            Sebastian inclined his head. His eyes scanned the paper quickly, lifting the teacup to proffer it to Ciel.

 

            _To the butler of House Phantomhive,_

_It is with deep regret and sorrow that I must inform you…_

            Sebastian dropped the teacup. Shards of milky glass scattered across the floor, tea splashing into rust-colored puddles. The noise pierced through the sunlit calm of the writing room.

            Ciel Phantomhive looked up from the patchwork of letters covering his desk to see his butler frozen in place. “Sebastian,” he growled, annoyed. It wasn’t one of the nice tea sets, fortunately, but a few drops of hot liquid had managed to fly across the floorboards to land on the young earl’s shoes.

            “Apologies, my lord,” the butler said after the slightest pause. He cleared his throat, folded the letter, and placed it into his breast pocket. He procured a handkerchief and knelt, first wiping the traces of tea from his charge’s shoes, then mopping up the rest of the liquid from the hardwood floor.

            “Surprising news?” Ciel asked, curiosity betraying itself in his voice. Sebastian never dropped anything.

            “Nothing that should interfere with my work.” His voice had a taint to it, as if berating himself for his mistake.

            “Who is Lucien?” Ciel asked again.

            Sebastian shook his head slowly, eyes glued to the mess on the floor. “Nobody of import to you, my lord.”

            Ciel let the matter drop. The mess was cleared away, and the earl returned to his stack of mail. From the corner of his eye, he could see his butler lift a gloved hand to cover the note at his chest.

 

* * *

 

            Sebastian immersed himself in work.

            The other servants of the household watched in awe as the black butler finished his tasks in record time – which for him was very fast indeed. Dinner was prepared, tables were set, chandeliers dusted, windows washed. Preparations were finished for the evening meal by noon.

            Yet still Sebastian was restless. He could not bring himself to read the second half of the letter, which protruded from his pocket in place of a handkerchief.

 

            _…of the death of Lucien Black, who…_

            The words tore through his mind, embossing themselves in dark red upon his conscience. His chest ached in a way that was unfamiliar.

            “Mey-Rin, fetch polish for the floors,” he snapped at the maid. His tone was harsh, but he was feeling harsh. Perhaps if he just ignored the feeling, it would vanish on its own. Mey-Rin scurried off to find the polish, returning a few moments later. The floor, it seemed, had mopped itself in her short absence.

            He took the container from her, dismissing her wordlessly with a curt wave of his hand. She inclined her head, giving him a vaguely hurt look before wandering off.

            Sebastian wet a cloth with the polish and set to work, scrubbing the marble tiles of the entry hall at an inhuman pace. His eyes stung, which he attributed to the strong odor of the polish. His hand travelled in frenetic circles across the smooth surface. If he could just keep his mind off the contents of that letter…

            “Sebastian,” his young master’s voice sounded behind him.

            “Bocchan,” he acknowledged, looking at the boy’s reflection in the marble. The butler’s voice sounded strange to his own ears. How had he not noticed him standing there?

            Ciel frowned. “You’re crying,” he said quietly.

            Sebastian’s brows furrowed in confusion. He sat back on his heels, pulled off his left glove, and touched his cheek. His fingers met with moisture.

            “So it appears,” he rasped. “My apologies.”

            “I’ve never seen you cry.”

            The floor gleamed all around them, reflecting their own images back at them. Sebastian glanced at himself in the tiles. His eyes were red, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I don’t make a habit of it.”

            “Sebastian.” His master’s voice was tinged with disapproval.

            “Yes, bocchan?”

            “Who is Lucien?”

            “It doesn’t matter.” A searing pain shot through Sebastian’s ribcage.

            “Sebastian,” Ciel warned.

            “He is nobody important.” The butler felt a warm drop of water caress his cheek.

            “Sebastian, I order you to tell me who Lucien is.”

            For a moment, the room was completely silent. Then-

            “He was my son.” The words were torn from Sebastian’s throat, dragged from his body by the string on the back of his left hand. The demon closed his eyes, letting the wet rag fall to the marble. His arms hung limply by his sides.

            A muffled gasp – one of the servants – rang out from the corner of the ballroom. Ciel glared in the general direction before turning his attention back to his butler, who continued to kneel on the tiles.

            “Sebastian…” the boy trailed off.

            Sebastian shook his head, black locks of hair drooping sadly on either side of his face. “You needn’t concern yourself with the affairs of a servant.”

            Ciel’s hand hovered over Sebastian’s shoulder for a moment, almost but not quite touching, before he brought it back to his side. “I didn’t know you had a son,” he said, the timbre of his voice torn between sympathetic and accusatory.

            “It was not relevant to my job here.”

            “It’s relevant now.”

            Sebastian took in a long breath before opening his eyes. He stood slowly, gathering the rag and the floor polish into the crook of one arm. He bowed low from the waist.

            “Forgive me. I will not allow my emotions to affect my work again.” He straightened up and began to walk up the staircase toward the servants’ quarters.

            “You’re allowed to have feelings, you know,” Ciel’s voice followed him up the steps. Sebastian glanced back. The earl looked surprised with himself – he was being quite lenient to his butler. But he did not take back his words. “Suppressing emotions is a pointless exercise.”

            The earl’s past, his frequent night terrors, went unspoken between them.

            Sebastian inclined his head after a moment. “Yes, my lord.”

            Emboldened and feeling generous – perhaps even compassionate – Ciel continued, “Take the evening off. Let Baldroy, Finnian and Mey-Rin serve dinner tonight.”

            “But bocchan-“

            “I’m serious.” Ciel looked at the ground. “Let yourself grieve,” he muttered.

            Sebastian swallowed. “Yes, my lord,” he croaked. There was an uncomfortable moment. “Thank you, my lord.”

            Ciel gave a single curt nod. “That’s all,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal, facing the opposite wall. Sebastian bowed awkwardly, one leg on a higher step than the other. Then, straightening his shoulders, he disappeared up the staircase.

 

* * *

 

            “-his _son!”_ Finny exclaimed in a whisper.

            Bard and Mey-Rin listened raptly to the gossip. Three uneaten pieces of watermelon lay forgotten on the kitchen table between them.

            “I didn’t know he had a son,” Bard remarked dubiously.

            “Oh, I feel just awful for him, I do,” Mey-Rin shook her head. Sebastian’s rudeness to her in the ballroom had been, it seemed, forgiven. “He must feel terrible.”

            The other two nodded in agreement.

            “And he was crying,” Finny breathed, even more quietly than before. “I’ve never even seen him get upset before.”

            “We should do something nice for him!” Mey-Rin gushed.

            Bard nodded, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips and leaning back in his chair. “We should. But what?”

            “What would make him feel better?” Finny asked thoughtfully.

            There was a long moment of silence as the three thought. Bard lit a match, cupping his hand around it as he puffed his cigarette alight.

            “I have an idea,” a fourth voice chimed in from the back of the kitchen. Mey-Rin jumped. Bard dropped his cigarette, caught it, and placed it back in his mouth.

            “Tanaka!” they exclaimed in unison.

            “What’s your idea?” Finny asked, shifting his blue-grey eyes to the older man.

            “Listen closely,” Tanaka said, huddling close to the other three servants. “We have to get our hands on that letter in his pocket…”

 

* * *

 

            Dinner passed uneventfully. Bard, Mey-Rin and Finny served the food and cleared it away again without incident. A shipping representative from China – one of Lau’s – ate greedily, outlining a business plan for Lord Phantomhive, who picked at his meal without enthusiasm. He barely listened to the representative, nodding and giving one-word answers where they were needed.

            A paper was signed, hands were shaken, and the Chinese man was sent off once more in his hansom cab. With dinner complete, the manor fell into an uneasy silence.

            The servants were sent back to their quarters. Ciel didn’t see the conspiratorial looks they gave one another – or if he did, he chose not to comment.

            The young earl retired to his study, his cane tapping with every other step. He was acutely aware of the sound of his wooden clogs clapping along the ground. It was quiet without Sebastian by his side.

            He glanced at the papers on his desk without enthusiasm.

 

            … _died comfortably in his sleep after a long illness. A funeral will be held…_

            The words of the letter tap-danced through his mind. He hadn’t meant to read the whole thing, but it had been intriguing. Who was this person, important enough that Sebastian had to be notified personally of his death?

            _He was my son._ The statement replayed itself in Ciel’s head. Sebastian had sounded so helpless.

            After another cursory glance at the papers, Ciel decided he wasn’t going to be getting any work done this evening. With a sigh, he gripped the head of his cane and exited the study.

            It occurred to him, after a few steps down the hallway, that he didn’t even know where Sebastian spent most of his free time. Frustrated, he stopped and thought. Where did he sleep? Did he even need sleep? He was a demon, after all.

            Feeling vaguely guilty, Ciel pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment’s thought, he began walking decisively – not in the direction of the servants’ quarters, but back down the stairs of the front ballroom, through the doors, and outside.

            “Sebastian?” he asked the air. The light of the sunset was fading into a soft purple, painting the front steps in a creamy hue.

            “Yes, my lord?” a voice croaked somewhere to Ciel’s right. He turned. The butler was perched cross-legged on a concrete pedestal. A stray kitten mewled meekly in his lap. He passed a gloved hand over its silken body and it began to purr softly.

            Ciel _hmph-_ ed. “I knew I’d find you out here,” he remarked, taking a few steps toward the servant. He leaned his back against the wall of the manor, facing the remnants of the sunset. “You and your damn cats.”

            Sebastian did not rise to the bait. He continued to stroke the creature, who rewarded him with a tiny lick of the hand.

            “Do you require anything of me, bocchan?”

            Ciel frowned. “No.” He crossed one ankle over the other, in a pose which on any other person would have seemed effeminate. “It was too quiet in the study without you serving tea.”

            “I’m happy to serve you tea, bocchan.”

            Ciel shook his head. “It’s fine.”

            They shared a companionable silence for a time, the sky fading into a dusky gray around them. It wasn’t quite summer yet, and a cool breeze blew past. Ciel shivered.

            “You’re cold, bocchan.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You should be inside.”

            “I told you I’m fine,” Ciel said, shaking his head stubbornly.

            Sebastian lifted his head to look at his master. The earl wouldn’t meet his gaze.

            “Do not feel as though you need to provide me with companionship, bocchan.” Sebastian’s voice was soft and gravelly, in a way that suggested he had been holding back tears for quite some time. His eyes were dry.

            “I don’t owe you anything,” Ciel sighed. Yet he did not move to go inside.

            “No, my lord,” Sebastian agreed. He observed the boy, watching as he kicked at a pebble. He seemed to be conflicted about something. Finally, curiosity got the better of the earl and he asked,

            “Would you tell me about him?” Sebastian looked down at the cat. It purred encouragingly.

            “Lucien?” He sighed, leaning back.

            “You don’t have to. I mean. If you don’t want to.”

Sebastian shook his head. “I wasn’t always a demon, you know.”

            Ciel looked taken aback by this sudden shift in the conversation, but he remained silent, listening.

            “Demons aren’t born. They’re made. I was thirty.” The butler’s eyes hardened as he continued. “I won’t bore you with specifics. But I had a child, before I was… created. That child was Lucien.”

            There was another long pause. Ciel didn’t dare say anything for fear that his butler would stop telling the story.

            “Once I became a demon, I lost everything. My family, my home… but not Lucien. Lucien was the last remaining piece of my life.” Ciel tucked away the uncomfortable knowledge that Sebastian had once had a family.

            “I’m sorry,” Ciel said uncertainly. The words tasted strange on his tongue.

            “It’s fine.” Sebastian continued to pet the kitten, who seemed to be falling asleep on his lap. “I appreciate your concern.”

            There was a brief silence. Ciel shifted uncomfortably. Another breeze, chillier now that the sun was gone, played around the entryway. The young earl shivered again.

            “Bocchan, I really must insist you go inside before you catch cold,” Sebastian said with a frown.

            Ciel closed his eyes. He steeled himself, then opened them again, looking directly at his butler.

            “Come with me.”

            “My lord?”

            “Come inside with me.”

            “Yes, my lord,” Sebastian said, though it seemed more a question. He gently lifted the kitten from his lap, setting it on the pedestal before standing. It mewled once in protest at the lack of warmth before going back to sleep.

            Ciel walked inside, not looking back, his cane tapping the ground. The sound of Sebastian’s footsteps followed. It _was_ nice, he reflected, to have a companion to walk with. His own footsteps didn’t sound so loud now.

            The pair made their way upstairs. The butler followed the earl into his bedroom. Out of sheer force of habit, he took Ciel’s cane and mantlet, hanging them on the wall.

            “I gave you the night off,” Ciel accused mildly.

            “Apologies, lord,” Sebastian said, inclining his head.

            “Let me do the same for you then,” the earl said, moving to unbutton the butler’s jacket. Sebastian looked surprised, but made no move to stop him. Ciel glanced questioningly at Sebastian’s face, and meeting with no disapproval, he removed the black jacket.

            Ciel realized this was the first time he had ever seen Sebastian in only his white collared dress shirt. For some reason, the thought made him blush. He turned away, hanging the jacket over the foot of the bed. The tails brushed the floor unceremoniously.

            The letter peeked out of the breast pocket of the jacket. Ciel’s fingers brushed over it. It was amazing how something as small as a piece of paper could affect a person’s life so greatly. He left it where it was, and turned back to face his butler, who was watching him curiously.

            “Sit on the bed,” Ciel said, gazing at the ceiling.

            “My lord?”

            “Just do it,” he commanded haughtily. Sebastian complied, folding his hands in his lap. Ciel climbed up next to him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then-

            “After the fire, I wanted nothing more than to have my parents back.” The statement hung in the air like a gunmetal raincloud. Sebastian made no reply. “I wasn’t allowed to grieve them. I was stolen away and tortured.”

            “I know,” Sebastian said.

            “I never had the opportunity to be weak.”

            “…I know.”

            Ciel took a short breath, then covered one of Sebastian’s gloved hands with his own. “Nobody should ever be denied the right to grieve.”

            “Bocchan?”

            Ciel shook his head. “Right now, in this room, aesthetic doesn’t matter. You’re not a servant. I’m not your master.”

            “But-“

            “I’m giving you the opportunity to grieve. I will not speak of anything you do in this room to anyone.”

            “Bocchan-“

            “Please, just… just Ciel. For now. For tonight.”

            “Ciel,” Sebastian said quietly, tasting the name on his tongue.

            “Anything you need,” the boy continued. “Cry, scream, break something. Whatever you need.” He squeezed his hand.

            Sebastian looked helplessly at the earl. He looked at his knees. He looked at the ceiling. “Bocch- Ciel-“

            “Whatever you need. But do it now. I can’t afford to have you running at half speed tomorrow.”

            Sebastian nodded slowly. He gazed at Ciel, at their joined hands. He thought for a few moments, weighing the earl’s discomfort against his own.

            “Would I be overstepping my bounds to ask for a hug?” Sebastian averted his gaze to the ground. Ciel’s heart broke, just a little, at the sadness in his voice.

            Without replying, the thirteen year old wrapped his arms around the old demon, the demon who had once been human. After a moment’s hesitation, Sebastian returned the favor, drawing the boy’s head to his shoulder. Sebastian was unnaturally warm, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Ciel found himself relaxing into the touch.

            “You don’t owe me this,” Sebastian said, repeating what Ciel had said on the front steps of the manor. He buried his nose and mouth in the softness of the boy’s navy hair.

            “No. But you should have someone there for you,” he mumbled into the older man’s chest. “You should always have someone.”

            Sebastian’s eyes stung, as they had stung when he polished the floors that afternoon. Ciel felt a rush of warm air on his scalp as the demon breathed through his nose.

            “Ciel,” he whispered. The name sounded foreign to his ears.

            “I’m here,” the earl whispered back.

            Sebastian cried.

 

* * *

 

            Much later, a set of quiet feet snuck into the earl’s room. Finny marveled for a moment at the sight of the young master and Sebastian, interlocked in sleep. He snuck to the end of the bed, eased the letter out of the jacket pocket.

            He snuck out of the room again, heart beating fast.

            “I got it,” he whispered to the others. “I got it.”


	2. Chapter 2

            Sunlight shone through the crack in the drapes. Sebastian blinked once or twice, taking a moment to register his surroundings. Sleep, he thought, was a strange thing indeed. He hadn’t needed to sleep in at least a couple of decades – though the feeling was not unpleasant.

            His young master breathed calmly in his arms, nose whistling softly with each exhale. The warmth was welcome. He certainly felt better than he had the previous evening.

            Then he remembered precisely _why_ he had felt so awful, and grimaced. Lucien…

            No. He would show no weakness in front of his master, yesterdays’ events be damned. Sebastian steeled himself, taking in a long, deep breath. He lifted his right arm, which was draped over Ciel’s sleeping form, and placed his hand onto the earl’s shoulder. He rubbed gently at the collarbone with his thumb.

            “Bocchan,” he whispered. “It’s time to wake up.” The boy groaned, snuffling into Sebastian’s chest nose-first. “Bocchan,” the butler repeated, not unkindly. “You will not have time for tea if we lie here much longer.”

            “Ugh,” Ciel muttered. “Sebastian?” He sat up suddenly, surprised at the presence of another body in his bed. In the chaos of last night, he had neglected to remove his eye patch. It hung pathetically over his forehead, the strings tangled in his hair.

            Despite himself, Sebastian smiled just a little. The sight was endearing. He sat up and took the strings into his hands, gently disentangling them from the earl’s locks. Ciel frowned, blushed, then frowned some more. He cleared his throat.

            “Do you feel better?” he asked.

            “Much,” Sebastian replied with a nod. And it was true. The ache still resided in his chest, somewhere just below where his heart would be if he had one. And yet, it did not feel as insistent as it had the day prior. Still, he thought, it would be some time before he would be able to quash it fully.

            Ciel examined his face for a few moments. Then, apparently deciding that Sebastian was telling the truth, the earl nodded.

            “Go make tea, then,” he commanded. “And be quick about it. You’ve allowed me to oversleep.”

            “Yes, my lord.” Sebastian stood and bowed in one fluid motion. He took his coat from the foot of the bed, folding it over his arm as he exited the room.

            It wasn’t until he was in the hallway that he realized the letter was missing.

 

* * *

  

_…A funeral will be held this Thursday, May 19, at Highgate…_

Finny read the letter in the half-light of the kitchen. The funeral was just five days from now – Tanaka’s project would be finished by then. It would be a lot of work, he thought, but not so much that the four servants together could not accomplish it.

            He glanced at the expectant faces of Bard and Mey-Rin.

            “You know your jobs?” he asked. The chef and the maid nodded dutifully.

            “I’ll find everything we need in the city,” said Bard. “And Mey-Rin will put it all together once I get back.”

            “Good.” Finny nodded. “Now I just have to find a way to return this without him noticing…”

            Tanaka cradled a mug in his hands, chuckling pleasantly.

 

* * *

 

            Sebastian willed himself back to calmness in the hallway outside Ciel’s room. He would find the letter. He had to. The tea set clinked once or twice on his serving tray before he managed to stop his hand from shaking.

            “Bocchan?” he called, knocking on the door of the bedroom with his free hand. “Your tea is ready.”

            “Come in.”

            Sebastian pushed the door open, surreptitiously glancing at the foot of the bed before bestowing his attention back upon the earl. Perhaps he had dropped the letter? He didn’t see it on the floor. He deposited the tray with the tea onto the nightstand.

Ciel was eyeing him curiously from where he still lay tucked into the luxurious mound of pillows. Sebastian knew he wouldn’t rise until he had taken his tea. The boy lifted the cup, taking a delicate sip.

            “Your schedule today includes lessons in ballroom dance and geography…” Sebastian recited, relying on rote memorization to rattle off the schedule while continuing to scan the room with his eyes for the missing note. He didn’t see it near the window or the far wall. “…and dinner at eight, served in the garden if weather permits,” he finished, speaking the words as slowly as he could without it being noticeable. He needed to buy more time to search.

            “You’re distracted.”

            “My lord?” Sebastian’s eyes flicked back to the earl. He pretended to have no idea what Ciel was talking about.

            “Something is on your mind,” the earl stated. “You’re flustered.”

            “Forgive me,” the butler said, clearing his throat. “The events of yesterday have no doubt left me in an unsatisfactory state of mind.”

            Ciel shook his head slowly.

            “No, this isn’t about Lucien’s death,” Ciel deduced. A pang shot through Sebastian’s chest at the mention of the name. He blinked once, and waited for his master to continue. “You’re looking for something.”

            “Well-spotted, my lord,” Sebastian said with a sigh, surprising himself. Admitting to lost property was admitting weakness. This would be his second time in as many days. He really must stop making a habit of this, he thought.

            “What are you looking for?” Ciel asked.

            “The letter,” Sebastian mumbled.

            “The letter announcing his death?” The boy raised an eyebrow.

            There was that pang again, coursing through the butler’s chest like lightning.

            “It was in my jacket pocket. It must have fallen out.”

            “It’s not like you to lose things.”

            “I know, my lord. Forgive me.”

            The pair studied each other for a long moment.

            “Sebastian!” a voice cried suddenly from outside the door. The gardener Finnian poked his head inside. “Mister Sebastian, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I found this on the floor-“ He waved a white piece of paper in the air.

            Sebastian rushed to him and snatched the letter from his hands. He inspected it quickly, then tucked it away, this time in his trousers pocket.

            “So you did drop it, then,” Ciel remarked, taking another sip of his tea.

            Sebastian scrutinized Finny for a moment before dismissing him with a wave and a quick word of thanks.

            “Yes,” he said in a faraway voice. “It appears that I did.”

 

* * *

 

            “Do you think he noticed?” Mey-Rin asked breathily, once they were safe in the garden. Bard had already left for the city to complete his portion of the task.

            Finny shook his head uncertainly.

            “I don’t think so. But you never can tell with him.”

            “Oh, I sure hope he didn’t notice,” the maid hummed. “I would hate for him to work out the surprise.”

            “Me too,” Finny sighed. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

            “It would be advantageous,” Ciel remarked during lunch, “to allow the other servants to spread the rumor of your son’s death.”

            Sebastian couldn’t find the air to respond for a short second.

            “My lord-“ he protested.

            “I know you didn’t drop that letter.” The young earl ate a small bite of his finger sandwich, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. Sebastian didn’t know whether to be thankful for his insightfulness or angry at his brazenness.

            “Hear me out,” the boy said. “Despite your best efforts, you don’t always come across as human. The servants’ curiosity and compassion will serve to blur others’ perspectives of you.”

            Sebastian clenched his toes, maintaining an otherwise perfect stance.

            “My lord, the butler aesthetic-“

            “-is to maintain a sense of perfection, yes, I know,” Ciel droned. “But perfection isn’t human.”

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. _I’m not human._ He wouldn’t say it aloud, but the sentiment was clear.

            “I’m just saying,” the boy said, his voice just a touch softer than before, “that perhaps a tragedy can bring some good with it.” He blinked meaningfully at his butler before returning to his sandwich.

            Later, Sebastian would wonder if perhaps Ciel wasn’t just talking about Lucien’s death.

 

* * *

 

            The bell rang an hour past midnight. Sebastian, startled by the late call, nearly dropped his knitting. He set the half-finished scarf onto his chair, straightened his tie, and made his way down the hall to his master’s room.

            “You called for me, bocchan?” he asked with a gentle knock on the door.

            “Come inside,” the earl beckoned.

            Sebastian inclined his head and entered, shutting the door behind himself with a click. Ciel’s face was illuminated by a single vertical streak of moonlight.

            “How may I serve you?” the demon butler asked. It was unlike Ciel to call for him after he had gone to bed. The boy squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, then summoned his courage and asked,

            “Would you stay with me again tonight?”

            A new feeling fluttered through Sebastian’s chest, unidentified but not uncomfortable. These _feelings,_ he thought to himself, were really starting to become a nuisance.

            “Yes, my lord,” he said with a small bow. “Should I remove my jacket?”

            Ciel nodded. “Shoes too.”

            “Very good.” The butler carefully removed the garment, folding it more neatly than Ciel had managed the previous evening. He toed off his dress shoes, pushing them with his foot until they were perfectly lined up with the edge of the bed. He placed the jacket onto the nightstand.

            He gathered a quiet breath, then turned toward his master. Ciel held up the duvet with one hand, beckoning. Sebastian crawled in.

            “Lie on your back,” Ciel commanded. Sebastian complied. A set of bones, all elbows, shoulders, and kneecaps, battered Sebastian’s front for a few seconds. Then the earl settled, his weight sinking into the butler’s ribcage.

            “Are you comfortable, my lord?” Sebastian inquired. His hands lay chastely at his sides.

            “Mm,” Ciel confirmed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

            “I gathered as much.”

            “Don’t get smart.”

            “Apologies, bocchan.”

            The room was filled with the sound of night. Sebastian’s heartbeat drummed at Ciel’s ear. The demon willed it to play at a normal tempo.

            “I… slept well last night,” Ciel confessed, bringing a hand to the butler’s shoulder. “Better than I’ve slept since before the fire.” His fingers traced slow circles on Sebastian’s collarbone.

            “I am glad to hear it, bocchan.”

            “Stop calling me that,” the earl spat. “I told you. In here, I’m just… Ciel.”

            “Apologies. I was under the impression that the drop in formalities was a one-night arrangement only.”

            Ciel shook his head.

            “Sebastian, if I am to share a bed with you, you at least deserve the privilege of using my name.”

            “Thank you, Ciel.”

            “Stop that.”

            “Ciel?”

            “Don’t use it like it’s a title.”

            “Ah. I will endeavor not to.”

            Another pause, longer this time, enveloped the pair. This time, the silence was more comfortable.

            “Sebastian?”

            “Yes… Ciel?”

            “Put your arms around me?”

            Sebastian complied. The boy sighed, hand still tracing the butler’s shoulder.

            “Did you ever hold him, like this? Your son?” Ciel’s voice was barely a whisper.

            There was the familiar pang. The painful one. Sebastian collected his thoughts for a few seconds before responding.

            “Yes. When he was young.”

            “Did you love him?”

            What kind of a question, Sebastian thought, was that? He closed his eyes.

            “I love him more than I can say.”

            “Present tense.”

            “It doesn’t end just because somebody dies, bocchan.”

            “Ciel.”

            “Ciel,” Sebastian agreed, though the name still felt uncomfortable in his mouth. He spread one hand across the boys’ shoulder blades. The span of his fingers almost completely covered the width of the young earl’s back.

            “So you’re not afraid of love? Even though you’ve been hurt by it?”

            “No.”

            Sebastian’s master was quiet after that. Eventually, after a long time, the butler could hear the subtle shift in breathing which denoted the transition into sleep.

            “Rest well, Bocchan,” Sebastian whispered almost inaudibly. He crooked his neck forward, placing the ghost of a kiss onto the boy’s head.

            He tried not to think of Lucien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - the servants have not been forgotten. 
> 
> Apologies for the shorter chapter. More to follow soon!


	3. Chapter 3

            Sebastian could feel the constant watching. Eyes bored into his spine wherever he went, pitying him ardently. He shrugged them off.

            After the first day it became easier. Not much, but easier nonetheless. Ciel had planned a ball for Wednesday night, and the butler was able to lose himself in the preparations, punctuating each day with a few precious hours of sleep with his master.

            Monday passed without incident.

            On Tuesday, Prince Soma and Agni came to the manor.

            Now it was Wednesday afternoon, and Agni was stalking Sebastian through the hall. It was discreet, but he was a human and Sebastian was a demon, and these things simply weren’t done. After perhaps half an hour of being followed around, Sebastian snapped.

            “What?” he snarled, whipping around on his heels. He tucked the tray he was carrying under one arm. The Indian butler took a few steps back, startled.

            “Sorry?” he asked, trying hard to look innocent.

            “Why are you following me?” Sebastian was in no mood to babysit.

            Agni faced the ceiling. “Forgive me, Ciel’s _khansama,_ ” he said, adopting a contrite expression. “I was merely concerned for your well-being.”

            “Do I not seem well?” Sebastian challenged. What had the other servants told Agni, he wondered?

            “You look… tired,” Agni offered. “Your hair has lost its shine. I feared you might be ill.”

            “My hair?” Sebastian murmured. He shook his head, feigning a smile. “Please do not concern yourself with my health. I assure you I am fine.” His cheeks ached. He hadn’t smiled in days.

            The prince’s butler frowned, studying him for a long moment. “If you need any assistance, please do not hesitate to ask,” he finally said. He bowed, and began walking toward the kitchen.

            Sebastian gathered his thoughts. He glanced at the silver tray in his hands. His reflection glanced back. He supposed his hair _did_ look rather lackluster. He ran a hand over it, restoring some shine to the raven locks. It cost an unexpected amount of energy, and Sebastian sighed. Was he tired?

            He shook his head, and after a moment, followed the other servant to the kitchen. He would worry about his appearance later. For now, he had a ball to oversee.

 

* * *

 

            “Do you plan on attending the funeral?”

            Ciel stood behind the door to the ballroom. Sebastian’s hands stilled for the slightest of seconds before continuing to tighten the little lord’s bow tie.

            “I was not planning on it,” the butler replied. “Your ball has begun; you should be focusing on entertaining your guests.”

            Ciel shook his head. “You should go,” he said. “It’s important.”

            “I fail to see the significance of such a ritual.”

            “Just go, Sebastian,” Ciel bade him frustratedly.

            “Are you sure, my lord?”

            “Don’t make me order you to attend a funeral.”

            Sebastian finished tightening the bow, and without another word Ciel swept by him into the swirling sea of expensive fabrics and hors d’oeuvres. The butler followed, sighing deeply.

 

* * *

 

            Three waltzes later, Sebastian had had enough.

            He ducked into the hallway, leaning back against the wall. His eyes were beginning to sting again. He rubbed at them with the heels of his hands.

“ _Khansama,”_ Agni’s voice addressed him from the other side of the hallway. “What is wrong?”

            “Nothing is wrong,” Sebastian replied a touch too fast. He smoothed his voice, blinked twice, and stood up straight. He cursed himself for not immediately noticing the other man’s presence.

            Agni scowled. “Something is wrong, and I will not let you return to work until I know it has been resolved.”

            “Agni,” Sebastian growled. He moved to return to the ballroom, but the other butler stopped him with an iron grip on his arm.

            “I will oversee Lord Ciel this evening. You need to rest.”

            “I am perfectly capable of looking after my own master,” he replied icily. The Indian gave him the same pitying look that Bard, Finny and Mey-Rin had been giving him for days. Sebastian bristled. The stubbornness of this man was irritating, to say the least.

            “You are ill,” Agni stated in a tone of voice that warned against argument.

            “I am perfectly healthy!” Sebastian protested.

            “An illness of the heart is still an illness. Now go rest.” Agni turned Sebastian by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shove in the direction of his quarters.

            “What did the others tell you?” the black butler hissed, turning back to give a nasty glare.

            “Nothing,” Agni said with a shrug. “You simply have the look of a man who has suffered a loss.” He inclined his head, and slipped back into the throng of dancing nobles.

Despite long years spent observing them, the insightfulness of humans still somehow managed to shock Sebastian.

 

* * *

 

            “Is everything prepared?” Bard whispered.

            Their project was laid out on the kitchen island, pieces of it strewn haphazardly about.

            “Yeah,” Finny whispered back. “I’m pretty sure we got all of them.”

            “Do you think he’s going to like it?” Mey-Rin squeaked.

            Tanaka chuckled, placing a hand on the edge of the counter.

            “Certainly.”

 

* * *

 

            “Take me straight to bed,” Ciel demanded once the last of the guests had trickled out of the manor. It was well after midnight.

            “Yes, my lord,” Sebastian replied. Agni had prevented him from entering the ballroom while the dance endured, but now he and Soma had retired for the evening, and Sebastian had reinstalled himself at his master’s side. He hooked an arm under Ciel’s knees and began carrying him up the steps. The boy’s head fell daintily against his chest. “You must be quite tired,” the butler commented.

            The earl hummed in agreement. “Parties are dreadful things.”

            Sebastian exhaled something that might have started its life as a chuckle. Humor, he decided, was something he would regain slowly, if he were to regain it at all.

            They reached the earl’s bedroom. Sebastian set the boy down carefully on the edge of the mattress. He removed each garment gently, placing the shoes at the edge of the bed and draping the rest of the outfit over his arm. He set them neatly in a corner where they would be retrieved in the morning, and gathered Ciel’s nightgown from the wardrobe.

            “Do you wish for me to stay again tonight, bocchan?” he asked as he pulled the soft fabric over his lord’s head and arms.

            “Yes. Though you must not let me oversleep tomorrow.”

            “Of course.”

            “You have an important day tomorrow.”

            Sebastian sighed, removing his jacket and shoes. He returned to the wardrobe, pulling out his own nightgown – he had begun keeping it there after his third night spent sleeping alongside the young earl. He pulled a three-piece partition forward and began to undress. It would be indecent, he thought, were his master to see him fully unclothed.

            “Funerals happen every day, Bocchan.”

            “That does not make them unimportant.”

            Sebastian pulled the silk garment down around his body, and replaced the partition by the wardrobe. He padded barefoot back to the bed, took the candlestick from the bedside table, and blew it out. Starlight glowed at the edges of the curtain across the room.

            “How do you propose I serve you if I am indisposed at a funeral?”

            “I’m coming with you, you dolt.”

            Sebastian blinked. “Forgive me, but may I ask why?”

            “I don’t need to explain my actions to you,” the earl huffed.

            “No, my lord. My apologies.” He inclined his head, waiting for permission to lie down. He regarded Ciel in his periphery. Why was the boy being so kind to him? On second thought, he wondered, was it really all that kind? Sebastian was dreading the funeral, if he was being honest with himself. He had almost forgotten that he even had the capacity for strong emotions. And yet.

            “Get in,” Ciel commanded, scooting over to what had become ‘his’ side of the mattress. The butler complied, reaching forward to untie the boy’s eye patch in one smooth motion. He placed the patch on the bedside table next to him, then lay flat on his back. He laced his fingers over his chest and settled in to wait until morning. There would be no sleep tonight.

            Ciel shuffled up against his side, face-first. He captured Sebastian’s arm.

            “It’s because you came with me,” the boy mumbled, too quietly for any human to have heard. “To my parent’s. And Aunt An’s.”

            “Their funerals?”

            “To their graves, at least.” Sebastian felt the boy tighten his grip around his arm ever so slightly.

            “So you feel as though you are repaying a favor.”

            “No, it’s… it’s just that it’s nice to have someone there.”

            Sebastian found that he could not bring himself to disagree.

“Thank you, Bocchan,” he said softly. Ciel scoffed. Sebastian noted the warmth of his breath through the thin fabric of his nightgown. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

            “You still won’t use my name properly then,” the earl stated, though it came across as a question.

            “Ah, forgive me. I fear if I use your intimate name here, I will slip and use it in public on accident.”

            “That’s a pathetic excuse. You never make mistakes.” Sebastian frowned. This much was true, but he did not want to appear to have a selfish reason for disobeying his master’s request. “You’re afraid of becoming attached,” Ciel continued brazenly.

            “Untrue,” Sebastian countered. “I maintain a sense of professional detachment from all of my masters. It wouldn’t do to form a bond with my meal.”

            Ciel chuckled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

            Sebastian bristled with frustration. The boy was just egging him on. He deliberately changed the subject.

            “Agni spoke with me today.”

            “Oh?”

            “He said my hair had lost some of its shine.”

            Ciel was quiet for a moment before scooting just a touch closer to his butler. “Buy some macassar oil.”

            “It will ruin the sheets.”

            “You think I’d let you sleep on my sheets with macassar oil in your hair?”

            Sebastian knew he ought to laugh at this, to chuckle at the least, but he could not find it in himself to do so. “So you’d banish me back to the servants’ quarters?”

            “With that grease on your head? I’d banish you to sleep outside.”

            They shared a companionable silence. Ciel’s breathing slowed, but he remained awake. Sebastian counted the breaths, remaining perfectly still.

            “How come you aren’t sleeping?” Ciel mumbled after a long time.

            “If I sleep, I will not wake until well after Bocchan wishes to rise.”

            There was another long pause. Then – “If you don’t stop that, I _will_ banish you back to the servant’s quarters.”

            “Stop what, my lord?”

            “Stop calling me ‘Bocchan’ and ‘my lord.’ It’s too formal. I don’t like it.”

            “Forgive me.”

            “Don’t apologize, just…” Ciel paused to yawn. “Just call me by my name. It won’t kill you.”

            Sebastian was silent. His mouth opened once, but he closed it again, swallowing whatever it was he might have said.

            “Well?” the boy asked. “Will you do it?”

            The butler made a tiny noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. Ciel sat up with a frown. He studied the older man’s face. His eyebrows twitched once before he smoothed his features into serenity.

            “Say something,” Ciel whispered. He placed his fingertips on Sebastian’s cheek. The demon’s crimson eyes flickered open. He brought a hand to his face, hooking the earl’s fingers with his own.

            “I cannot, Bocchan. It is… unprofessional.” _Uncomfortable,_ he thought to himself. Perhaps his master was right. Perhaps he was afraid.

            The earl’s expression was unreadable. He made no move to extract his fingers from Sebastian’s. He exhaled through his nose, appearing to make a decision. He brought his other hand to Sebastian’s face, cradling his temple in his palm. He leaned down slowly, questioningly. The butler made no move to stop him, watching curiously as his master pressed his lips to his forehead.

            “It’s hard for people like us to show affection, I guess,” Ciel muttered as he withdrew. It was dark, but demons thrive in the dark, and Sebastian saw the boy’s face was tinged with pink.

            “People like us?” he asked, choosing not to comment on what had just happened.

            “People who have lost everything.”

            Sebastian’s eyes widened a fraction. It was rare for his master to openly discuss his past like this, even in reference. Ciel scowled, still blushing furiously. The butler considered his next words carefully.

            “You wish for someone to show you affection, Bocchan?”

            The boy laid back down, pillowing his head on Sebastian’s arm. He hid his face. Sebastian could feel the heat radiating from his small body. He knew he wouldn’t be getting an answer that evening.

            “I’m going to sleep,” the earl mumbled. “Don’t forget to wake me up.”

            “Yes, my lord.”

           

* * *

 

            “Good morning, Bocchan.” Sebastian’s voice perforated Ciel’s sleep. The young earl blinked a few times, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. It was not yet light outside, though the beginnings of a sunrise could just be detected.

            “What time is it?” Ciel asked

            “My watch reads four-thirty.”

            “You only let me sleep for two hours?” The boy groaned, and burrowed back underneath the blankets.

            Sebastian wheeled his tea cart nearer to the bed. “I’ve prepared you a refreshing bergamot earl grey this morning,” he continued, unfazed by the boy’s disapproval. “It contains hints of restorative citrus. I’ve also brought chocolate scones for a light breakfast.”

            “Hng,” the blankets moaned.

            “You did order me to wake you in time for the funeral, Bocchan.”

            “But four-thirty?!” Ciel growled.

            “You know as well as I the length of the journey from here to Highgate. We must depart at six if we are to arrive on time.”

            “When does it start again?”

            “The service begins at ten, my lord.”

            “Ugh. Fine.” The earl sat up, accepting the steaming cup from his butler. He took a long draught of the liquid. When he lowered the cup from his face, he noticed Sebastian’s outfit.

            “You’re wearing a black shirt under your vest,” he commented.

            “It is customary for one in mourning to wear black. I will change into my usual shirt if my lord is displeased."

            “It’s not bad, just… unexpected.”

            “I see.” Sebastian took the cup from his master and offered him a scone. Ciel shook his head. He noticed the butler sported his usual white gloves.

            “I won’t be hungry for another couple of hours. Pack some and bring them for the carriage ride.”

            “Yes, my lord.” He offered the earl a hand, pulling him out of bed. The boy stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. “What do you wish to wear today, Bocchan?”

            “I suppose I had better wear a suit also. Something formal, at least.”

            “Very good.” Sebastian pulled a navy double-breasted jacket from the wardrobe. “Will this do?”

            “I don’t see why not.”

            Sebastian gathered the matching shoes, stockings, shirt and shorts from the wardrobe. He pulled his master’s nightgown up over his head, and Ciel placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder to steady himself as he stepped into the shorts.

            “How are you feeling?” the boy asked, holding his arms out so Sebastian could put his shirt on.

            “I am quite well, my lord. Thank you for your concern.”

            “Hm.” Ciel sat on the edge of the bed, and Sebastian rolled one long stocking onto his foot. “Have you informed the other servants that we will be absent today?”

            “I told Finny. He will alert the others to their tasks. I hadn’t the heart to wake them all at this hour.”

            “Good. And Prince Soma?”

            “He will likely sleep past noon, my lord.”

            As if to spite Sebastian and his plans, a knock sounded at the bedroom door. A muffled “Ciel?” could be heard from the other side. “It’s Soma. I heard voices. Are you okay?”

            “Past noon?” Ciel murmured. He sighed. “I suppose you better let him in.”

            “Indeed,” Sebastian muttered with a frown. He rolled the other stocking up past Ciel’s knee, then stood and crossed the room. He opened the door with a bow.

            “Prince Soma,” he acknowledged. “I apologize that our conversation has woken you.”

            “Ciel!” the prince yelled, ignoring Sebastian and rushing to the bed. “Why are you getting dressed? Are you going somewhere?” Ciel scowled.

            “You should be asleep,” the lord chided.

            “But I wanted to talk to _you,_ ” Soma insisted. “Where are you going?”

            “If you must know, I am attending a funeral.” Ciel took his mug of tea from the tray and took another long sip. Sebastian knelt once more in front of his master, beckoning him to place his left foot into a shoe.

            “What?!” Soma gushed. “Ciel! I didn’t know someone had died! I’m so sorry!” He threw his arms around the boy, squeezing him tightly. Sebastian discretely caught the teacup as it tilted out of Ciel’s fingers.

            “It’s not for someone I know,” Ciel grunted, prying Soma’s arms off of him. “It’s for Sebastian’s son.”

            The butler looked down, busying himself in tying the shoe. Finished with the left foot, he moved on to the right.

            “What? Sebastian?” Soma hovered over the butler’s kneeling form. Sebastian willed him not to give him a hug. “Ciel! You are so selfless! Caring for your butler so!” He made another pass at the earl. Sebastian let out a silent breath in relief.

            “ _Yes,_ so if we are going to be on time, we need to _get ready._ ” The earl’s impatience was beginning to show. Sebastian finished off the right shoe, and stood, bidding his master to stand also. He held out the jacket for Ciel to put on, buttoning it quickly.

            “No! I must come with you! Let me wake Agni!” Barefoot, the prince rushed out of the bedroom to go find his butler.

            “Come on,” Ciel said in his wake. “Let’s get out of here before those two can catch up.”

            “Yes, my lord.” The earl’s top hat, cane and gloves were fetched, and Sebastian lifted his master close to his chest. He jogged down the steps of the manor, making a dash for the carriage which waited at the front entrance, despite the early hour. He carefully deposited the boy into the plush seat, and made to climb up to the driver’s perch.

            He was stopped by a forceful hand on his chest.

            “Ciel’s _khansama,_ ” Agni growled. “I will not allow you to drive in this state.” Sebastian found himself suddenly pulled into a suffocating embrace. Splashes of warm water dripped onto the spot where his shoulder met his neck.

            “You didn’t tell me you had lost your _son!”_ Agni accused wetly. Sebastian’s nose was crushed against the Indian’s collarbone. He smelled of herbs and sweat.

            “Let’s go, Sebastian; we’ll be late,” Ciel’s voice drifted out of the carriage.

            “No!” Agni shouted. “I will drive you!”

            “We will be fine, Agni.” Sebastian tried to sound reassuring.

            “Cieelll!” Soma’s voice rang out from the entryway. The prince came rushing outside, tugging his tunic on backward. Agni let go of Sebastian, and reached over to fix it. “We’re coming with you!”

            Ciel’s sigh from inside the carriage was audible.

            “Fine. Get in,” he beckoned. Soma beamed happily. Agni hastily tied a black sash around his master’s waist and helped him into the body of the carriage. He shut the door behind the prince.

            Sebastian was already seated in the driver’s seat, reins in hand. Agni hopped up to join him in one fluid motion, and forcibly shoved him over to the other side of the bench.

            “I said I’m driving.”

            “I don’t suppose I can convince you otherwise?”

            “You cannot.” Agni grabbed at the reins, which Sebastian relinquished reluctantly. The Indian butler snapped them down once, and the horses began moving with a jolt.

            With nothing productive to do for the next few hours, Sebastian settled in to watch the sunrise.


	4. Chapter 4

            The ground was sticky with mud.

            “You should consider yourself lucky,” the priest had said when Sebastian had introduced himself. “They say when it rains at a funeral, the angels are watching over your loved ones and crying. Your son is in the hands of God now.”

            Sebastian still wasn’t sure if he believed in a God. He had certainly never met one, though he imagined one’s existence was not out of the realm of possibility. Perhaps it was selfish, but he secretly hoped Lucien’s soul would show up in hell one day, so that he could say a proper goodbye at the very least.

            The funeral itself had been a joke - in a church, surrounded by effigies of saints who had died themselves hundreds of years prior. Lucien’s casket had lain open at the front of the sanctuary, covered in candles and suffocating flowers. Sebastian tried his best not to look at it.

            He found now, after nearly a week of holding back tears, that his eyes were dry. In fact, upon seeing the casket, all he felt was a strange kind of numbness. When the priest asked if anyone had words to say about the departed, Sebastian said nothing. He hadn’t felt the need to. Ciel watched him questioningly, but did not force him to speak.

            After the thing was finished, they processed out into the rain, behind the church to where a large rectangle of earth had been neatly plucked out of the ground. Sebastian, Agni, and four others who Sebastian did not recognize hefted the oak coffin onto their shoulders. He assumed they were friends of his son, and felt a little guilty that he didn’t know for sure. He had been so far removed from Lucien’s life for so long.

            With Agni’s help, the coffin was lowered gently into the muddy ground. The Indian butler’s face was positively dripping with tears. Once his hands were free, he embraced Sebastian unabashedly. Sebastian did not reciprocate, but he did not push the man away either.

            Ciel watched his butler carefully, as if worried that he might break at any moment. Sebastian made a show of pulling back his shoulders and maintaining a stoic expression.

            The priest said a few words, and an urn of dirt was passed around. Each person respectfully took a handful and sprinkled it into the grave. When Ciel tried to hand it to Sebastian, the butler shook his head. He passed it on to the next person.

            “It would dirty my gloves,” he murmured to his master. Ciel frowned, but did not fight him.

            A hymn was sung, and with that, the service was over. Raindrops scattered apprehensively around the party, as if afraid to intrude upon such a solemn occasion. Sebastian handed an umbrella to Ciel. Though they hadn’t packed one, Ciel didn’t question its appearance. Agni held a second umbrella over Soma’s head. The two butlers stood shoulder to shoulder, hair glistening with moisture.

            “Let’s return home,” Ciel announced to no one in particular. “If we make good time, we’ll be back before six.”

            “Yes, my lord,” Sebastian murmured, inclining his head.

            “Agni!” Soma wailed. “See how composed he is!”

            “Like a lotus in a hurricane,” Agni agreed, still tears running down his own cheeks.

            Sebastian gave a short sigh. “Come, friends. Let us return to the carria- oof,” he huffed, cut off by two pairs of arms squeezing the air out of him. Agni’s umbrella rolled off somewhere to the side. The two Indians sobbed passionately into the fabric of the butler’s overcoat.

            Sebastian wondered if he ought to cry. It did seem to be an opportune moment after all. But he just couldn’t seem to conjure up the tears that had been threatening for the past week.

            Ciel scowled. “Can we at least do this out of the rain?”

            “Yes,” Sebastian wheezed, prying the two off of himself. They stared at him pathetically, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He offered up his arms, and both Agni and Soma latched on, clinging tightly. He led them around to the front of the church and the carriage. He deposited them beside the horses, and walked over to the door where his master was waiting. He opened it, and offered a hand to help Ciel inside.

            “Are you okay?” the lord asked quietly.

            “Yes, Bocchan.”

            “Are you really though?”

            “I assure you I am quite well. Thank you for your concern.”

            “That’s exactly what you told me the other day.”

            “The sentiment still holds true.”

            “You were most definitely not okay the other day.”

            “Bocchan. I am fine.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. This was beginning to get frustrating.

            “Hm.” Ciel studied his face for a long time. “All right. Drive.”

            Sebastian bowed. “Very good, my lord.” He turned back to where the Indians still stood, now embracing each other. “Prince Soma, allow me to help you into the carriage.”

            “Sebastiaaan!” Soma wailed. He broke apart from his own butler and ran to the raven-haired man, clinging to him with fervor. “You need tea! And warm blankets, and wine, and-“

            “All of those things can be obtained once we have arrived at the manor,” Sebastian assured Soma. He placed a hand between the teen’s shoulder blades, guiding him toward the steps of the cab. “Please climb in.”

            Soma sniffed and obeyed. Sebastian shut the door behind him. He walked back around the carriage and shimmied up onto the driver’s bench. Agni, thankfully, had already climbed aboard.

            “I’m driving,” Agni hiccupped between sobs.

            “No, you’re not,” Sebastian said, shoving him over and grabbing the reins.

            “But-“

            “Friends don’t let friends drive while they’re upset.” He gave Agni a meaningful look.

            Agni looked ready to argue, but thankfully didn’t. He merely scooted closer to Sebastian, leaning his head onto the English butler’s shoulder and sniffing loudly. Sebastian _did_ roll his eyes then, cracking the reins and hoping against hope that the white-haired man wouldn’t remain like that for the duration of the journey.

            He did, of course.

 

* * *

 

            “Sebastiaaan!” Mey-Rin squealed. “You’re home!”

            “We made you a present!” Finny exclaimed, eyes shining.

            “It’s, uh, in the other room. Hold on a sec.” Bard shuffled off to go get it.

            “Ho, ho, ho,” Tanaka chuckled quietly to himself.

            The rain had not let up, and the funeral party were dripping quietly in the manor’s entryway. Soma was _still_ crying, and Ciel attempted valiantly to shove the prince away. He would not budge.

            “Soma, please, your clothes are soaked. We need to get you changed,” Agni pleaded with his master.

            “Yes, we both need to change,” Ciel grunted. He swiped at the teen to no avail.

            “Pardon me, prince,” Sebastian muttered. He lifted Soma and set him down beside Agni. Agni placed a hand on his shoulder and began to lead him off to his room.

            “I hope you will forgive me,” the butler continued, speaking to Mey-Rin. “I must change the young master’s clothes. Then, with his leave, I shall return for my gift. I am flattered that you would go to the effort of making something for me.”

            “Oh, it was nothing.” Mey-Rin blushed. “I hope you like it!”

            “I am sure I will appreciate it. Now please excuse us.” He hooked an arm under Ciel’s knees, lifting him bridal style and carrying him up the stairs to his room.

            “It seems everyone is concerned about you today,” Ciel commented quietly.

            “It does appear that way, my lord.” The butler gently set the lord down in the middle of the floor. He peeled away the wet jacket and shirt, then moved on to the shoes, shorts and stockings. Ciel shivered as the cool air hit his skin.

            Sebastian procured a towel and began drying his master’s hair.

            “You didn’t cry at the funeral.”

            “No,” Sebastian agreed. “I did not feel the need to.”

            “You’ve been on the verge of crying all week.”

            “My lord is very observant.”

            “It didn’t exactly take a detective,” Ciel commented wryly. Sebastian finished drying his hair and moved to the wardrobe. He pulled out a simple white shirt, blue shorts and blue vest. “Why didn’t you cry?”

            Sebastian thought for a moment. “I cannot say. I did not feel the need.”

            “You didn’t say anything at the funeral.”

            “No, my lord.”

            “And you didn’t sprinkle any dirt on the grave.”

            “No, my lord.”

            “Do you not feel pain at your son’s death?”

            Sebastian had to pause for a few seconds to breathe. The nerve of this boy. “Of course I do. It’s pained me all week – as you said.” Ciel used his shoulder for balance, stepping into the shorts. Sebastian slipped the shirt over his arms, buttoning it at the front. “Of all people, I would imagine you’d have a better understanding of grief than most.”

            Ciel frowned. “Don’t compare my situation to yours,” he said icily. Sebastian finished the shirt and vest. “We are nothing alike.”

            “Of course not. Forgive me.” Sebastian’s eyes did not meet Ciel’s. He stared intently at his work, boring holes into the stockings with his gaze.

            “Sorry,” the boy muttered. “I didn’t mean that.”

            “It’s fine,” Sebastian said coldly. “My lord should always speak his mind.” He slipped two wooden clogs onto Ciel’s feet and stepped back, bowing low. “Now if you will excuse me, it appears I am wanted in the entryway.”

            Ciel nodded wordlessly, and Sebastian stepped out into the hallway. He straightened his coat – now completely dry, as if by magic – swallowed, and made his way slowly back downstairs.

            “Sebastian!” Mey-Rin greeted him at the bottom of the staircase. Finny followed her, carrying a large package wrapped in paper. Mey-Rin glared at Bard, who stood in the corner.

            “What?” the chef said defensively. “It was too heavy for me.” Finny ignored them both.

            “It’s not much, but… we hope you like it.” The gardener set the package down gingerly on the tiled marble.

            “I am honored,” Sebastian said. He inclined his head and knelt, slipping a knife from his sleeve into his hand and cutting the paper. The three house servants watched with anticipation. Tanaka observed quietly, sipping at a cup of tea.

            Sebastian’s gloved fingers traced over the leather cover of a massive book. He opened it carefully, not quite comprehending what he was seeing. Photographs slipped through his fingers in a protective casing as he leafed through the pages.

            “It’s an album,” Tanaka explained. He stood from his perch and moved to the butler’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We wanted you to have something that would let you cherish your son’s memory.”

            There were photos, drawings, journal pages, letters – anything that bore Lucien’s image, or had Lucien’s handwriting on it. Sebastian was speechless.

            “How-“ he began, clearing his throat.

            “Wasn’t easy,” Bard said, lighting a cigarette. “Some of those pictures were damn near impossible to – ow!” He rubbed his head where Mey-Rin had punched him.

            “We stayed up all night to work on it,” she explained shyly. “We wanted it to be a surprise.”

            Sebastian’s face softened. He looked helplessly at Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin, and at Tanaka, and at the book. His eyes stung, and his throat hurt all of a sudden.

            “Do you like it?” Finny asked worriedly. The servants watched him expectantly. Sebastian swallowed and nodded. A drop of water trailed across his cheek, and another, and another. Tanaka squeezed his shoulder.

            “He does,” the house steward explained to the other three, who seemed confused by Sebastian’s tears. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s give him some space.”

            “Kch…” Sebastian said, gulping back the fuzzy feeling in his throat. “Thank… you…” He knelt over the book, fingers running reverently over the pages.

            Tanaka led the other three servants back toward their quarters. The entryway was quiet for a time, the silence punctuated only by Sebastian’s sobs. He drank in the image of his child, displayed in black and white.

            “Lucien…” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he chanted over and over. He leaned forward, his forehead touching the book in an image of prayer.

            “So this is him, then,” a soft voice spoke close to Sebastian’s side. Ciel knelt beside his butler, observing the pictures curiously.

            Even with his master watching him, Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to stop sobbing. He cried out piteously.

            “He looks like you,” Ciel continued, splaying a hand across Sebastian’s shoulder blades. He touched the book with his other hand. “I am truly sorry for what I said earlier.”

            With a lot of effort, Sebastian pulled himself back up to sitting. He covered his eyes with his palms, teeth bared in a painful grimace. Everything hurt – his eyes, his throat, his back and stomach. This, it seemed, was the culmination of a week’s worth of grief.

            “I suppose there’s nothing for it,” Ciel sighed. He stood and extended a hand to his butler. “Agni?” he called, pulling Sebastian up to stand beside him. Agni appeared from behind a pillar with Soma. They had been observing the entire time.

            “Yes, Ciel?” he asked. The Indians’ eyes glistened with sympathetic tears, but both seemed to recognize that now was not the time for theatrics.

            “Please bring this book to Sebastian’s quarters.”

            “ _Jo agya_!” Agni replied, head held high. He lifted the heavy book easily. Soma walked up to Sebastian, squeezing his arm gently before following his _khansama_ off.

            “You’re staying with me,” Ciel said once they had gone, taking Sebastian’s hand into his own.

            “Boc… chan…” Sebastian hiccupped.

            “Sebastian.”

            The boy wrapped his arms around the butler’s middle, pillowing his cheek on the man’s heart. He closed his eyes. Sebastian knotted his fingers in his navy hair.

            “Ciel,” he whispered. “Ciel, Ciel, Ciel…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a bitch to write, but whatever man. Get her done. 
> 
> This is, I believe, the first story over 10,000 I've actually had the nerve to complete. So thanks for sticking around to catch the ending - it means a lot to me. You, fair subscriber, are what has kept me going. 
> 
> It's a sad story. I don't apologize for that. But the greatest medicine is time (and sleep) and I believe that Sebastian has a lot of both coming his way. 
> 
> Anyway, cheers. 
> 
> B

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that the premise of this story requires Sebastian to be a lot younger than he is in canon (by, you know, a few thousand years). Liberties needed to be taken. Apologies - I hope you enjoy it anyway.


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